


Let Steeple Bells Be Swungen

by Merixcil



Series: Advent Fics 2018 [23]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Catwoman (Comics), DCU
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:42:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25384003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merixcil/pseuds/Merixcil
Summary: Bruce and Selina get hitched in Vegas
Relationships: Selina Kyle/Bruce Wayne
Series: Advent Fics 2018 [23]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1824643
Comments: 6
Kudos: 4





	Let Steeple Bells Be Swungen

**Author's Note:**

> Do y'all know how happy I was to get this pairing with this prompt? Do you?????

“I’m serious.” Bruce’s eyes are just visible over the top of his morning paper. Hiding, but still keen to gauge her reaction. 

Selina sits back, hard. “I mean, it’s not that I’m opposed. But this is all very last minute. I thought we were going to wait till next summer.”

“We can.” Bruce says, far too quickly. “I just…”

A rumble from the kitchens below startles him hard enough that he almost knocks over his coffee. He rights it with unfair grace before setting aside the paper. 

The dining table in Wayne Manor is far too wide to reach across, but despite growing up here Bruce still tries. His hand lies a third of the way across. Left hand, no watch this morning. Completely bare. 

“I woke up this morning.” He says softly. “And you were still asleep in my bed, as beautiful as ever. But you looked so peaceful, and I want you to always have that peace. I suppose what I’m trying to get at here is that I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and I want that in writing. I don’t care what we’re both wearing and I don’t care how many guests we have. I want to marry you. I would marry you in a Metropolis toilet if that’s what you wanted.”

“Strong words from a Gothamite.” Selina replies, trying to dispel the tension she always feels when someone’s trying to be sincere with her. Bruce’s mouth twitches ever so slightly but he doesn’t take his eyes off hers. So fucking serious all thee damn time. 

She nods. “Okay.”

She’s not sure he’s ever smiled so wide. 

What with arrangements to be made, Christmas dinner to be eaten and presents to unwrap, they don’t get married on Christmas day. Truthfully, Selina’s rather glad that she never has to watch Bruce carve out space on a church’s schedule on the busiest day of the year, but she’d got to admit that there would have been an astonishing novelty to it. Instead they spend the day itself glued to one another, earning them despairing groans from the kids and starry eyed satisfaction from Alfred every time they lean in to kiss. It’s the best of Christmases and the most impatient of Christmases. 

First thing Boxing Day though, they’re on a flight to Nevada, each wearing the most casual civilian clothing they can muster. In honour of the auspicious day, Bruce has declined to travel First Class, and instead struggles to fit his enormous frame into an economy seat. 

By the time they make it into the centre of Las Vegas, it’s mid afternoon and the vibrant neon of the town is already in full swing. The desert is warm like Gotham never will be, dry and forgiving, even at this time of year. 

In the distance, the mountains stare down at them, judging. Selina could laugh. She doesn’t stand still long enough for anyone to judge her. 

Except that before she knows it she’s standing in a cheap and cheerful wedding chapel just outside the city centre. wearing a ‘sexy cat’ costume they found at a party shop and only a little grumpy that they had an official half hearted Batman suit for Bruce to wriggle into. It has none of the tension of the real thing, draping sadly over his midriff where the real suit imitates the beyond impressive six pack he keeps up. And he loves to insist that every aspect of the Batsuit is designed with practicality in mind. Liar. Her liar. Her beautiful, impossible liar. 

The tinny sound of recorded bells chiming echoes through the chapel and everyone but the priest laughs. The two bit organ player laughs. The site proprietor who acts as a witness laughs. Hysterical. Selina, already seen in her full wedding get up and on the arm of her husband to be, walks down the aisle to Prince singing about how you don’t have to be rich to be his girl, you don’t have to be cool to rule his world and Bruce looks like he might cry. 

No point paying for a wedding video, and stupid to request one be recorded. It could only weaken their secret identities in the long run. If the priest has any idea that this Bruce Wayne is The Bruce Wayne he doesn’t say shit about it, just rattles through formalities till they reach the good stuff. 

The movies lie and for good reason. In the read world, no one says ‘I do’, because doing implies the present, the now and only. The questions the priest asks of Bruce and Selina require an ‘I will’. A nod to the future, a mark of their dedication to wake up every morning, peaceful or otherwise, and do right by each other. 

Their version of doing right by each other probably isn’t what this guy has in mind. Even a Vegas priest couldn’t be expected to explicitly sanction the way the Bat and the Cat intend to fit into each other’s lives. But they’ve never asked for permission before; vigilantes never do and the people of Gotham, even less so. 

What matters is the final heart stopping seconds, when the formalities are more or less over and the ink is drying and they’re staring down the last two lines that will tie the knot on this thing. Bruce’s left hand is no longer empty and Selina’s will never be empty again and the mask from this costume keeps slipping down into her eyes and blocking her view of him and she cannot wait for him to tear it off her back at the hotel. 

“You may kiss the bride.” The priest announces. But that’s not Bruce’s job. Selina leaps into his arms with intent to devour him. You may now kiss the groom, Mrs Wayne. 

Gross. Mr Kyle. Definitely Mr Kyle, if anyone asks. The organ strikes up Waterloo by Abba, playing them on into the rest of their lives. 

**Author's Note:**

> This work was originally posted as part of a multi chaptered 'advent fics' fic that I'm trying to split up. If you think you've read it before, you probably have
> 
> Comments on the previous posting of this fic (just ask if you want me to remove yours) include:
> 
> >silksieve:  
> >>Merixcil: Thank you so much!


End file.
